


The Life You Save May Be Your Own

by Miss M (missm)



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Javert Survives, Character Death Fix, Community: makinghugospin, Established Relationship, M/M, Mirror Sex, Repression, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-01
Updated: 2013-03-01
Packaged: 2017-12-04 00:48:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/704550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missm/pseuds/Miss%20M
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Valjean turns Javert around again, towards the mirror, and pulls him close. "Look at us," he breathes in Javert's ear. "These are the men we are today. Would you have believed it, only a year ago?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Life You Save May Be Your Own

**Author's Note:**

> From a kinkmeme prompt: "They always fuck in total darkness, under the covers. More often than not Javert keeps his eyes shut. Valjean has had enough of it. He wants to make Javert acknowledge what they do, what there is between them. He fucks Javert in full daylight in front of a mirror and forces Javert to watch." Thanks to the OP for an awesome prompt, and to Flannery O'Connor for the title.

It has been a year.

The realisation dawns upon him as he slowly wakes, the rays of the morning sun falling upon the bed. Beyond the walls of the house and garden, Paris is alive and bustling, but the bedroom is sheltered and quiet; outside the open window, birds are singing.

A year since the barricade.

He shifts over onto his side, opening his eyes. He is alone in the bed, which does not surprise him. The sheets are cool; Javert is an early riser.

A year has passed since he spared a man's life, since that man let him go free, since the meeting on the bridge. Since he, through God's grace, somehow managed to convince Javert to come home with him; since, wary like a wounded beast and yet too tired to put up a fight, Javert let himself be convinced to stay.

 _Who are you?_ Javert whispered to him that night, sounding angry and intent and weary to the bone. _Are you from Heaven or from Hell?_

 _Neither_ , he said, and smiled despite himself. _I am a man, no worse than any other_.

It is through God's grace alone that Jean Valjean can say those words and know them to be true. He thanks the Lord for this every day.

He looks at the ceiling and listens for any sounds from the house. Perhaps Javert will be in the kitchen, or in the parlour. Perhaps he will be in the garden.

This thing between them is strange and wondrous. There was a time when he would not have believed it, would not have believed he could ever want it, let alone believe it could ever happen. He has spent so many years hiding – not in complete isolation, for he is blessed with a darling daughter, but the truth of his past is a gnawing beast, a demanding shadow which never left any room for intimacy. No one, man or woman, could be trusted to look upon his scars and refrain from balking. He has never allowed himself to take the risk.

Javert, however, knows the worst and has believed even worse. There is nothing Valjean needs to hide from him; there is nothing he needs to be ashamed of, now. Perhaps this is why his heart opened so readily, before Cosette's wedding all those months ago, as if to say, _You have shown him mercy, now show mercy on yourself; let yourself love and be loved._ Not in so many words, of course, and nothing is ever straightforward where Javert is concerned: if Valjean had expected their mutual courtship to be smooth and easy, he would have been disappointed. It took many weeks of heated discussions and guarded glances and not-completely-accidental touches before Javert one night appeared at his bedroom door, tension coiled in his shoulders like a snake waiting to lash out.

Valjean can still recall it, so vividly: Javert's wary face. Himself, sitting up in bed, unsure of what to say. The seconds slugging away. Javert not meeting his eyes.

Then, with a motion towards the bed. _May I?_

And himself, shifting to the side to make room. _Please do._

Lying there in silence for a while, chaste as two saints at first; then someone's hand – he likes to think it was Javert's – finding the other's. Careful touches that grew bolder. Mouths that met, tentatively at first. Caresses that became embraces that became heated, frantic movements.

Since then, they have learned more. During dark nights, they have panted into each other's mouths, struggled together under the safety of the covers. He has learned the way Javert responds to his touch, the way Javert's thighs will part and his hips buck, even as Javert himself keeps his eyes closed, even as he will bury his face in Valjean's neck, as if unable to meet his gaze.

This, it seems, is something Javert finds it difficult to permit himself, no matter how much he wants it, how much they both want it. Valjean is not without understanding. He knows, or thinks he knows, how much Javert's desire is both torment and relief to him, how difficult it still must be to reconcile with everything else that is part of him.

But it has been a year.

 

~

 

He finds Javert by the kitchen table, reading a newspaper and sipping at a mug of coffee. He looks up and nods in greeting; then he stiffens, his eyes fixed on Valjean's form. "You are still naked," he says.

"I believe I am," says Valjean, "and good morning to you too." He goes to Javert and touches his cheek, smiling down at him.

Javert is looking both scandalised and amused despite himself. "You really have no sense of decency," he murmurs, but he leans into Valjean's touch, lightly.

"Neither have you," Valjean says, "as you keep looking at me." He leans down and kisses Javert's brow. "Come back to bed."

Javert goes very still. Then: "The day has begun," he says, looking down.

Valjean runs his thumb along Javert's temple. "I know."

"It is a thing of the night," Javert says, and he still does not look up. He who spent all those years looking down – and Valjean chases away the thought as quickly as it came.

"It is a thing of the light, as well." He moves his fingers, tilts Javert's chin gently upwards. "Look at me."

Javert obeys, almost like he has no choice. His gaze slides over Valjean's body, his eyes wide; Valjean can see the desire in them. "I have looked at you before," he says at length, his voice shaking only a little.

"In prison, yes. I know. You have already seen my scars." He leans down to kiss Javert's brow again. "We two hold no secrets to another, not any more."

Javert licks his lips. "I do not understand what you are asking for." He looks torn, as if this is a heavy dilemma weighing upon him.

"Then I will show you," Valjean says and takes him by the hand.

 

~

 

The bedroom holds a mirror on the wall opposite the door. They stop in front of it, watch themselves: Javert is clothed, but his gaze is not on himself; it is on Valjean's nakedness in the mirror, trailing over his body, moving swiftly past the old scars, lingering on his shoulders, his chest, and, finally, between his legs.

Valjean moves behind Javert and puts his arms around him. He leans in and kisses Javert's ear. Javert turns his head, and their mouths meet. They kiss like that for some moments, slowly, thoroughly.

Then Valjean pulls back, loosening his grip on Javert. "I'd like you to undress."

Javert stiffens, but only a little. "I only got dressed an hour ago," he protests, but his voice is somewhat resigned; the bulge in his trousers is evident by now, plain in the mirror for them both to see. Javert is the sort of man who will take pride in ignoring the demands of his flesh, but when his body joins forces with Valjean, resistance will always be futile – that much is clear to Valjean by now, and he cannot help but enjoy this fact, although perhaps he should not. Now he steps back a little, holding Javert's gaze in the mirror, and finally, with a sigh, Javert begins to unbutton his shirt.

When he is naked at last, he turns towards Valjean, away from the mirror. "I hope you're happy now," he mutters, running his hands over Valjean's chest. There is a flush on his cheeks and he does not meet Valjean's eyes. Valjean's hands find his waist and pull him closer. They kiss, more hungrily than before, more eagerly.

Then Valjean turns Javert around again, towards the mirror, and pulls him close. "Look at us," he breathes in Javert's ear. "These are the men we are today. Would you have believed it, only a year ago?"

Javert closes his eyes. When he speaks, there is something choked in his voice. "I knew you must have some ridiculous sentimental reason for this."

"You know me so well," Valjean says, smiling against Javert's cheek. He likes how quick Javert is to understand. "You know me better than anyone – better than my own daughter, even." He tightens his grip on Javert's waist, the words coming before he knows it. "You are the only one who remembers the man I used to be."

Javert trembles again. "You wanted to forget," he murmurs, pushing his hips back against Valjean, ever so slightly.

"I did," Valjean says. He bites Javert's ear lightly to provoke another tremble, and succeeds. "Or so I believed. Part of me still does believe that. But this is who I am. This is who we are. I cannot change that, and I would not want to."

It is true, he knows. They are each other's history, each other's tie to the past, to themselves. His own family are long gone; that part of his life is lost forever, but he still has Javert, a memory of Toulon so utterly transformed into something graceful.

He runs a hand down Javert's chest, finds a nipple and tweaks it. Javert's eyes fly open, seeking his in the mirror. "You want us to be exposed," he says, the words accusatory and his voice lustful. "You want to fuck me right here, in broad daylight, and make me see my own disgrace."

Valjean mouths at his neck. "Do you believe it is a disgrace?"

Javert colours, looks down for a moment, then up again. "No," he says. "You should know that by now. But..." The colour deepens, but his eyes are almost defiant. "To put it in your own words – part of me still does believe that."

"Then we will make that part see sense," Valjean says, kissing his way down Javert's neck and shoulder. "Together."

Javert tips his head backwards with a moan. Valjean slides his both of his hands over his chest, his stomach, further down, and Javert pushes back against him. They are both hard as rock, their age notwithstanding, and Valjean does not know how long they will both last like this, Javert grinding against him, his own hand on Javert's hot flesh.

He pulls back a little, keeping a hand on Javert's hip. "Stay there," he says, "your hands against the wall," and Javert does as he is told, bracing himself on each side of the mirror and spreading his legs. Valjean finds the bottle of oil quickly enough – it is on the nightstand, as usual – and when he comes back, he can't help but let a hand glide over Javert's buttocks, a soft caress. Javert watches him in the mirror, biting his lower lip.

"We are doing this in broad daylight," Valjean says, pressing a kiss to Javert's temple as he slides two slick fingers inside him. "You are going to watch every minute of it. Are you ashamed?"

Javert arches his back, clenches around his fingers. "Not yet," he grinds out.

Valjean holds his gaze in the mirror, lost in Javert's eyes, wide and dark with lust. "Are you going to be ashamed?"

"Not yet," Javert gasps again, "not until you seize me and slide into me and fuck me and make me watch every minute of it – oh, God, when are you going to do it?"

"Soon," Valjean murmurs, his own voice ragged with desire. "Very soon, as soon as you feel like you might take all of me without discomfort – you are so wonderfully hot and tight..."

Javert makes a keening sound at the words. He arches his back again, tilting his hips; his reflection in the mirror is a wild and sensual creature, nothing at all like his usual, stern self. "I can do it," he almost growls, "I could take all of you, if you chose to enter me this very second; there's no need to – " The rest of his words are muffled as Valjean covers his mouth with his own, pulling out his fingers.

When he's drawn a few shaky breaths, he positions himself, one of his hands holding Javert's hips in a firm grip, the other tight around Javert's stomach. Javert watches him in the mirror, his gaze that of a beast stalking its prey; his lips are pulled back, his teeth showing. "Do it," he pants raggedly, "show me what I ought to be ashamed of, all of it!"

"There's no shame," Valjean pants back, "only this –" And he slides into Javert, and Javert's flesh welcomes him like he belongs there, a tightness that yields to him and him only. Javert groans, tilting his hips further, pushing back. The muscles of his arms, braced against the wall, are straining. "Harder," he groans.

Their gazes never leave each other in the mirror. Valjean thrusts again, and again, and Javert meets him; they are in this together, still so plain for them both to see. What a picture they make – it is almost too much for him to think of; he keeps his eyes where they are, loves the way Javert does not look away either.

"Do you see now?" he gasps, feeling the rush building, Heaven drawing nearer with each thrust. "Are you still ashamed?"

"I am – " Javert starts to say, and then Valjean moves his hand to curl around him, and he gasps, and cries out, and spends himself. His eyes close and his head falls back, and at this Valjean comes too, stifling the wild sound he makes against Javert's neck.

Javert's arms give way; he slumps against the wall; Valjean slumps against him. Their knees tremble, but they do not move, not for several long minutes. Valjean folds his arms around Javert and holds him close, pressing his face against Javert's hair, breathing through his nose and blinking back tears.

At length, Javert clears his throat. "We will need a bath," he says, his voice hoarse but otherwise quite calm. He raises his head from where it has been resting against the mirror. His eyes find Valjean's and he smiles. "To clean ourselves of this _utter_ depravity, that is. Together."

Valjean's mouth is not wide enough for the smile he wants to give back. "I believe you are right," he says, planting a kiss behind Javert's ear. "There is no way to do it, if not together."


End file.
